


Smile, My Love

by Nehanshika_524



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, HA GOT U im not a nice bean i am a mean bean, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, M/M, Murder-Suicide, Psychological Torture, Suicide, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 13:27:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6053269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehanshika_524/pseuds/Nehanshika_524
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There’s little joy in life for me,<br/>And little terror in the grave;<br/>I’ve lived the parting hour to see<br/>Of one I would have died to save."<br/>-Charlotte Brontë</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smile, My Love

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Lots and lots of blood and gore. There's also a suicide scene. I hate to spoil it, but please stay safe and only read if you're able to!
> 
> THIS IS FOR WINTER U EVIL BEAN

He woke with a jolt. It was dark, very, very dark, and something was humming quietly in the back of his head.

Chrom was feeling around for some source of light, when somebody lit a lamp. He couldn’t see who exactly was holding the lamp, but he felt a strong sense of trust in them. They were somebody he could rely on, follow orders from.

The person he couldn’t see said, in a voice he both did and did not recognise, to turn around. Chrom did so, and saw somebody in a wooden chair. They were gagged, bound and looked up at him with a strange expression in their eyes. It was a longing; a need to communicate something they weren’t able to. Muffled sounds came from them as they tried to speak, and the chair rocked violently as they tried to break free. Instinct told him that they- no, it- was an enemy, and needed to be punished.

Fear suddenly clouded their eyes, which were a deep, dark colour. The person he trusted told him that the thing in the chair was a Risen, and was to be tortured. Chrom nodded. Yes, it was a Risen. Without a doubt. The person he trusted had said it was, and so it must be true.

He walked towards the Risen, feeling strangely disconnected. He didn’t know it, but his eyes were glazed and unfocused. It seemed to frighten the Risen, who whimpered as he neared. Its dark eyes filled with tears, and said eyes told Chrom it was already in great pain. Maybe the person he trusted had already begun to torture it prior to his arrival.

There was a table beside it, filled with sharp, serrated objects. Some were very rusty and very red, and some looked new; shining pieces of metal with nary a stain blemishing them.

Chrom slowly picked up one of the objects. It was one of the new, shining ones; a dagger, the handle of which fit comfortably in his hand. He turned to the Risen, unblinkingly raising the dagger. The risen was crying now, muffled sobs sounding behind the gag. He thought it odd, and vaguely repulsive, that a Risen would be faking emotion.

He dragged the dagger slowly across the skin of its arm. It cried out, the sound deadened. Blood bloomed from the wound and thinly coated the edge of the blade. Chrom began to carve bits of its skin off, each cut earning a silenced yelp.

The person he trusted encouraged him to be more “creative”. Risens, after all, had no capacity to feel anything but pain. Therefore, it was okay to torture them. Yes, that made sense. Chrom trusted them, so everything they said must make sense.

Laying the dagger aside and instead picking up a dusty tome, Chrom muttered but a word and shadowy tendrils flew from his hand. Chrom never recalled learning magic, yet it came to him as easily as breathing. The tendrils enveloped the Risen, causing it to scream horribly. It would have been more horrible if not for the gag, which reduced its despicable screaming to nothing more than a muffled noise. It was still sobbing, still trying to say that which it was not capable of saying. It had been trying to call out some word, some one-syllable word it would never stop repeating.

Chrom didn’t care for this creature. He didn’t care what it had to say. He knew the Risen were evil, and that the evil had to be punished.

There were other tomes, too. One that made scars appear all over the Risen’s body; closed, but glowing with darkness. Chrom reached for another dagger; this one smaller, more serrated. It was still sobbing, yelling into the gag and pulling at its binds, trying to talk, trying to pull free. Chrom ignored it, and, blank-faced, traced the tip of the blades along the scars. They began to bleed, dark magic seeping out of them and scarring every inch of skin it touched.

The person he trusted began to give him specific orders; rip the nails from its fingers, and let them fall to the floor. Burn the surface of his neck with the smallest of flames. Slit along its wrists. Gouge out one of its eyes.

Chrom obeyed the person he trusted. It screamed again, tears mingling with blood as Chrom burnt its neck, slit its wrists, slowly slid a sharp object behind its eye. He turned the blade, sharp edge cutting through the muscle. Chrom felt it give way easily, and it came loose, falling from it's face and landing with a soft _thud_ on the floor, earning yet another scream from the Risen.

The Risen kept up its muffled screaming, kept up its pathetic crying, kept up trying to pull free. The person Chrom trusted was always whispering, always telling him how to hurt it. He turned the dagger in his hand and hit it's remaining eye with the hilt. It recoiled, sobbing, a defeated look beginning to fill its dark eyes. Chrom hit it again, and again, eventually putting the dagger back and instead punching it bare-handed.

Its blood was everywhere, pouring from a thousand wounds and splattering loudly on the wooden floor. It was a very bright red, and stood out, chillingly vibrant, against the Risen’s pale skin.

Something flickered in Chrom then. Pale skin? A Risen’s skin is rotted and dead. Why was this one pale?

The person he trusted told him it was normal, and Chrom’s doubts dissolved. If the person he trusted said it, it must be true. He turned back to the Risen, a twisted piece of metal held poised over its other eye. The Risen shook the chair violently, yanking its head away and up, and the gag finally came lose.

“Ch-Chrom!” He yelled, voice weak and broken by sobs, but urgent. Chrom felt his heart jolt. “Chrom, no! P-please, no! I’m n-not a risen! It’s m-me, Ro-Robin!”

The person Chrom trusted told him it was not Robin, and told him to stab the Risen. “No,” it begged. “Chr-Chrom, please!”

Chrom obeyed the person he trusted.

Or, rather, tried to. He intended to dig the serrated blade into the Risen’s gut, and twist it, killing him. But he couldn’t. It made him afraid; instinct told him to kill the Risen, but it also told him that he should never kill him.

...He? Him?

No, not him. It. The Risen was a thing, not a person.

But it spoke again, and this time his voice brought Chrom to tears, though he couldn’t place why. “Ch-Chrom, don’t- don’t you re-remember? All- all that we’ve b-b-been through… All we’ve s-seen… Go-Gods, Chrom, w-what… what h-have they d-d-done to- to you?”

He froze, unable to move. A strange feeling was welling inside him, and he didn’t know what it was. The person he trusted told him to kill the Risen immediately, and he wanted to, but…

The Risen’s sobs subsided slightly as Chrom hesitated. “Chrom… Y-you… You said I was the- the wind at your back, and the sword at your side, d-did you not? How a-are you unable to remember the m-man you pledged t-to spend your life with?”

Chrom’s heart skipped a beat. He felt something in his mind begin to click, and Robin’s name formed on his lips, but the humming in his head became too loud and too overpowering and the person he trusted told him to stab the one before him and so he could do nothing but grab the dagger and dig it deep into the Risen’s chest.

Robin's eyes widened. He tried to scream, but all that came out was a choke. Blood dripped from his lips. But he smiled sadly, reaching up to brush Chrom’s cheek.

“Chrom… It’s okay.” He coughed up more blood. “I love you.”

And then, far, far too late, it fell back into place. The humming ceased. Chrom’s mind cleared, his eyes widening, and tears threatened to spill, and he slashed the bonds and lunged forwards to catch Robin as he fell from the chair. Blood steadily spread, darkening his robes and dripping from the blade. Chrom felt Robin weakly embrace him back, a soft and sad laugh echoing, before his arms went limp and his heart ceased to beat.

Chrom cried out and held him close, whimpering Robin’s name and crying into his once-white hair, now matted with his own blood. _I killed him,_ He thought, chest aching with grief. _Oh, Gods, I killed Robin._

He sobbed out his name, shaking and wishing he were dead. His throat was raw from crying, screaming against Robin’s death.

The person he no longer trusted laughed, and Chrom turned angrily. But he was too tired, too horrified, too numb to be angry. He didn’t care anymore. Nothing mattered. Nobody mattered except for Robin, and he was dead. Dead by Chrom’s hand.

A thought struck him, and he went cold with fear at it. But a part of him longed for it. Robin wouldn't want this. Robin wouldn't want him to... but he gave in to it.

Shakily, he took the dagger, still wet with Robin's blood, and aimed it at his own chest. The person he no longer trusted panicked, warned him not to do anything, ordered him to put the knife down.

He did not obey.

And though the wound hurt terribly, Chrom smiled through his tears as he fell beside his beloved. With the last of his strength, he laced his fingers through Robin’s, blood pooling beneath them both in a deathbed of crimson.

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> questions? comments? requests? hmu on my writing blog: dhillarearenn


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